Chapter 11
NOAH
My arm hurts. My back hurts. My legs hurt. My ass hurts. Everything just fucking hurts.
And for a second, I have no idea where the hell I am.
My eyes flicker open to the pure daylight, streaming through the windows of a vehicle, and I rotate my wrists, for some reason expecting them to be bound with handcuffs.
This is a weird prison transfer. Why am I lying down? Did something happen to me?
And then it hits me—the entire last week of my life.
Fuck. I forgot I’m slowly making my way onto America’s Most Wanted list.
I roll onto my back, which forces my knees up in the air, my entire six-foot-three body crammed in the backseat. I run a hand over my face, the reality of being on the run feeling heavier than I ever thought it would when I stepped through those gates.
Especially as her voice hits my ears.
Rue is singing something, but I don’t recognize the song, nor can I understand what she’s saying as I struggle to come to full consciousness. I angle my head toward the front, catching sight of Bullet in the passenger seat ahead of me, the only thing visible being his nose fogging up the window.
Then I see her.
Her hair is in a messy, dirty bun, and her sweater is mud-stained. Her eyes are focused on the road, and the profile view I have is… stunning. There’s a feminine softness to the curve of her jaw, and my chest burns with the desire to reach out and run my fingertips along it.
She would let me. I know she would.
And as if she feels my gaze, Rue turns, meeting my gaze. “You’re awake.” Her voice is flat, her eyes devoid of emotion.
She must be exhausted.
“How far out are we?”
“Almost four hundred miles,” she answers, and then angles her body away from me, focusing solely on the road.
Well, okay then. I slowly ease myself into a sitting position, my head going light as I do. I brace against the passenger door, the duffel bag thumping to the floor. Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut, and only once the spinning stops, do I open them and peer out the window.
Flat ground. No Man’s Land. What state are we in? I blink a few times, trying to figure it out. Far west Oklahoma? Texas, maybe? It’s been so long since I’ve driven, traveled, or really done anything.
My gut knots up. I feel lost. Really fucking lost.
“You should eat.” Rue’s voice draws me back, and I watch as she leans over, picking up something in a white wrapper and tossing it to me. The breakfast sandwich lands on my lap, and despite everything, my stomach growls.
“Where’d you get this?”
She doesn’t look back at me. “The gas station.”
“You went into the gas station… like that?” I slowly unwrap the croissant, eyeing her—and immediately reevaluating the mud on her shirt. “Did anyone ask any questions?”
“No,” Rue snaps at me. “No one asked questions. I’m on my way home to California, for all anyone knows. It’s not like I’m suspicious.” There’s a defensive edge in her tone that I don’t fully understand. However, I do understand the rasp of fatigue.
She needs to sleep. Soon.
“Maybe you should let me drive for a while,” I suggest, scooting more toward the middle of the backseat. Bullet peers over at me and then turns back to the window.
“That’s risky.” Rue shakes her head as I take a bite of the now-cold sandwich. “I don’t think you should be in the front seat from this point on. Your face is everywhere—and the search is all over the radio. Even out here.” Her bloodshot eyes jump to mine.
And the guilt racks me.
“We need to pull off. I gotta piss anyway,” I add quickly, and then gesture to the exit coming up. I squint at the sign, confirming we are, indeed, in Texas now.
“This town is too small,” Rue argues, catching my gaze again. “Someone is way more likely to notice you.”
“We’ll drive off the beaten path,” I reason, gesturing to the exit again. “It’s better than nothing. Besides, this is right off the Interstate, they’re going to be used to travelers.”
“I don’t—”
“Just pull off,” I cut her off. “I see a motel sign.”
“What the hell are we going to do with a motel?” Rue turns to me. “We can’t stay in a motel. They keep IDs and a log…”
“Okay, but you’re just traveling home to California, right? And I mean, look at you,” I pause, her face flickering with emotion. “You need to get some sleep.”
“We need to keep moving.”
“Are they still searching the lake?” I continue to eat the sandwich, and Rue reluctantly takes the exit.
“I don’t know,” she deadpans. “I don’t have a good way to check, but we shouldn’t be spending money on a motel. We’re not exactly… well off.”
I nod. “I know, but after the last twenty-four hours, Rue, you need sleep. Solid sleep.”
Her cracked lips part, like she wants to say something, but then she just shakes her head again, taking the exit. I relax back into the backseat and then slump further down as the SUV comes to a crawl, entering the tiny town.
“This is a horrible idea. What if they have cameras?” Rue’s voice fills the cab. “They could see that I have a second person with me. That would be so bad.”
“Look for cameras when you go to check in, then,” I say.
“And how do I do that?” Her voice strains, and that fact alone tells me this is the right thing to do. “I can’t just fucking ask the front desk that.”
“You’re smart, Rue. You have to use your instincts and stay aware. Just like I’m sure you did at the gas station.” And by sure, I mean, I’m absolutely not sure of this woman at all. She stabbed her boyfriend and pushed him into a lake.
So honestly, her stress levels seem to indicate volatility.
But she did get away with it. She did manage to fly under the radar. I gotta give her that.
“I could’ve made it another couple of hundred miles before we stopped,” Rue says, pulling into the parking lot of the motel. She pulls up to the front office and puts the car in park. Bullet hops up, peering over at her. “Stay here.”
She slides out of the car, leaving me with Bullet.
I watch her walk away, staring at her ass in her black sweatpants. The curve of her hips is the most tantalizing view, and because I’m not so fucking tired, my brain kicks into gear, reminding me of just how fucking good she felt when I was balls deep in her.
But I need to keep control of myself. Let Rue drive me most of the way, and then call a spade a spade—and let her move on.
My chest grows tight at that, and I suddenly feel desperate for comfort. I almost lean forward and pet the dog, but then stop myself, just in case there’s a camera facing the windshield. Right now, Rue doesn’t have eyes on her.
And I hope it stays that way. For her sake.